March hares in May are not so mad and play another tune throughout the spring they’ve danced a jig that’s done before the June flowers high toward the sun do raise their yellow crowns for ’tis the month the March hares’ calmly start to settle down.
humid humans hot as hell
soak their feet in wishing wells
that’s why wishes sometimes smell
of bitter disappointment
but when their toes all pass the test
of podiatric cleanliness
the fountain fairies do their best
and their wishes take precedent
give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day but give a fish a man and you’ll likely hear him say “what’s this pointless thing you’ve given me?” (in his little fishy voice) “as I’d rather have a wiggly worm given half the choice.” yes to give a fish a man my friends is really quite absurd but there are no more wiggly worms thanks to all the early birds.
the midlife crisis came and went without a million dollars spent on plastic surgeons for my nose or all too tight Italian clothes a sports car never was my thing nor watches, chains or diamond rings no younger belle to ease my fears of the advancing autumn years the one nod to my advancing grief was a change from boxer shorts to briefs.